Haaave You Met Uncle Jack?
by Ninjababe
Summary: The adventures of Darcy Lewis and her 'Uncle', Captain Jack Sparrow.


Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.

This is all Sparrow (my friend, not the Captain)'s fault. And, yes, she's proud of that.

Title is (yet again) thanks to Ithildin.

This story is done as journal entries, transcripts, etc. -shrug- It wanted to be written that way.

This story is not part of my 'Darcy Lewis, Vampire Slayer (Semi-Retired)' series. 

* * *

Dear Blank,

I'm not calling you a diary. I'm not a squealing teenager (I was never a squealing teenager). Journal is plebian. The only reason I'm writing here is it was ordered to during my "mandated therapy after a traumatic, life-altering events". So, welcome to the world, Blank. Enjoy the minimum amount of entries required before I throw you into the recesses of my files and forget about you.

"Write about your feelings. Tell what happened, in your own words. It'll help you arrange your thoughts."

Please, like a powerless god falling from the sky, getting run over (twice!), tased, suddenly getting his powers back to kick the ass of a multi-story, near invincible robot is the weirdest thing I've seen. And, then two years later, the same god coming back and fighting aliens in England?

Clearly, you haven't met my Uncle Jack.

Let me tell you the story of the longtime family friend, Captain Jack Sparrow.

And, yes, SHIELD super-spy psychologist, I know you're reading this too, even though I was told it was for my benefit and no one would read it without my permission. Please.

Captain Jack Sparrow is a pirate. He's always been a pirate. Even if he isn't currently pirating.

He's a drunk. Frankly, I'd rather him drunk. I've seen him sober, and he's hundred times more scary than anything on this planet. That includes the Hulk. I'd rather go up against him than Uncle Jack sober any day.

He prefers rum, btw. Jack that is. The Hulk? No idea what his alcoholic preference is...

Virtually every woman he's met, even though he isn't the most clean of guys (and usually stinks of rum and the sea) fall for him, at least a little. Including me. Damn the man.

So, if you end up sending any femme fatales at him, good luck. Considering there's at least one sea goddess out there that flutters her eyelashes and sighs at the mere mention of his name? Yeah… I'll let you ponder that.

And, yes, I've seen her do it.

Like I said, the whole Thor escapade wasn't the first bizarre thing in my life. I've met gods, zombie monkeys, mermaids, assassins, arms dealers, smugglers... You've name it, I've either run into it with Uncle Jack, or he has a story about it.

His current boat is named 'La perle de la Vahiné'. I have no idea why he named his boat (must remember to call it a 'ship' to his face) in French.

He's not big on the French. Maybe he's getting romantic in his old age. Who knows.

Oh, look. I'm over the required limit of my journal writing for this week.

And, yes, I know this paragraph doesn't count. Night, Blank.

* * *

Subject: Darcy Lewis  
October 15th

Even though she knows that this is required for her to keep working with Dr. Foster now that the doctor is employed by SHIELD, Ms. Lewis seems to take great glee in not taking our sessions seriously. She answers questions with questions, rants about inconsequential things, and seems to take great joy in trying to confuse me.

As for her journal, since there is only one entry, and it seems to have become the beginning of a creative writing project, I will have to wait and see. It's possible that she will use it for its intended purpose.

Dr. L Rarana

* * *

Transcript  
Text messages  
Darcy Lewis (DL) and Jane Foster (JF)  
1416-1445  
October 16th

DL: Bored

JF: Did you collate the data and put it into the spreadsheet?

DL: Yes, and fed you breakfast and lunch, plus brushed your hair. Did you not notice?

JF: I was a bit busy.

DL: With what? Equations, or staring off into space over Thor's chest?

JF: We aren't supposed to mention that on unsecure channels!

DL: -rolls eyes- Who cares if you've fallen for a Norse body builder? It's not a state secret!

JF: He is quite fit, isn't he? :-)

DL: I wouldn't mind bouncing a quarter of his abs!

JF: Darcy!

DL: Jane! Oh, gotta go… Time for my scheduled torture.

JF: It's not torture, it's therapy.

DL: Eh, same thing.

* * *

Dear Blank,

Welcome back to the light, or whatever.

My first remembered meeting with Uncle Jack, I was ten. Supposedly, we met multiple times before, the first just when I was two. I've been told he patted me on the head, and declared me a fit recipient of the Turner blood when he heard about my streaking escapade earlier in the day. That's all we'll say about that.

My mother's maiden name is Turner, in case that didn't make sense.

I was ten years old. This guy, dressed casually in a shirt and shorts, who swayed in place, who smelled of *something*, was peering down at me through squinted eyes.

He had previously been asleep in my parent's bed.

"Who are you?" he asked.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Ah, Darcy, then."

I was in wide-eyed shock. Did he read my mind?

That's when my mother came in. "There you are, Jack. We do have a perfectly nice bed in the guest room."

Jack whispered as if terrified. "There are flowers on the walls."

My mom just rolled her eyes and hauled him upright. "Yes, that's a common theme of wallpaper."

Before they left the room, he turned and looked over my mother's shoulder and mouthed 'flowers', his face still in wide-eyed horror mode.

I followed them into the kitchen and watched from the doorway as Mom poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him.

"What's this?" he asked.

"I think it's obvious," My mother pointed out before turning to me. "Darcy, this is Uncle Jack. Until you're a legal adult, you are not allowed to go anywhere with him unless me or your Daddy is with you. Then, Lord help you, you're on your own."

I nodded solemnly at that, and ignored Uncle Jack's cry of outrage.

And, that's how I met Uncle Jack. I spent years listening to him tell stories of cursed pirate treasure, zombie pirates, and other fanciful things. He'd come into my parent's life, much to my father's horror, while my mother just sighed, resigned. He'd saunter into the house, stay a few days to a month, then saunter back out.

We never knew when he'd show up, or how long he'd stay before he disappeared again.

The day I turned eighteen, he was waiting for me outside of school. He had actually cleaned up (for him), and was wearing dress pants and a shirt with no visible stains.

He was also leaning against a gleaming, brand new car.

"So, you're a legal adult, now, luv," he said with a leer, causing giggles from the high school drones around us.

Rolling my eyes, I replied, "Yes, Uncle Jack."

"And, a three day weekend to boot. Want a spot of adventure?"

I blinked and thought hard for a moment.

"Come on, it won't be anything too bad. And, if the car survives the weekend, it's yours."

I could hear the clicking of the hamster wheels that made up the brains of the stupefied idiots still eavesdropping, trying to parse Uncle Jack's statements.

I gave a wide, slightly manic grin. "You're on."

It was a great weekend. Mom just shook her head when she came to bail us out.

And, since the evidence was in the car when it died a fiery death, the case was dropped.

* * *

Le Pearle de la Vahiné = 'The Tahitian Woman's Pearl' according to the 'net. Black pearls are Tahitian pearls according to my googlefu. Thanks to poulpette for correcting my French grammar!

I'm still debating if this is going to be one long story, or a series. If I get tired of the current writing style, it may turn into a series.

If you have ideas for this, please share. I have a few, but always welcome more.


End file.
